


here we cross respective hearts

by GlowRoseate



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Awkward Flirting, Chatting & Messaging, F/M, Mostly Fluff, Multi, Mutual Pining, Secret Identities, an AU where Overwatch is an actual group of superheroes, angela is the designated "Damsel In Distress" and she's perpetually sighing tiredly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-10 00:05:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10424835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlowRoseate/pseuds/GlowRoseate
Summary: Moving to a new city always requires some time for adjusting. It takes about four days for Angela Ziegler to fully move into her new apartment and just a little longer than that to get settled into her new clinic. At the end of her first week, she is also kidnapped by a man who calls himselfDoomfistand touts around a glove that looks suspiciously like a mitten bedazzled around the knuckles. She is tied to a chair while the self-proclaimed super villain uses a megaphone to outline his evil scheme, and then she is swiftly rescued by a group of self-proclaimed super heroes who call themselves Overwatch.-Angela Ziegler is a local doctor six out of seven days a week. She spends her free time either reading, pursuing her medical research, or playing hostage for wannabe super villains.Recently, a masked man who calls himself Genji has been responsible for her rescue more than usual.





	1. i.

**Author's Note:**

> me: i think i want to finally contribute to the fandom!!  
> me to me: write a dumb superhero au even though canon is already technically a sort of superhero au  
> me: a stunning idea. novel. fantastic.
> 
> this is meant to be light fic. after reading so much angst, i was craving fluffier, bumbling-and-awkward interactions between oblivious idiots. i think the tags are pretty accurate at the moment, but i should note that the gency will be the main pairing here, and all the others listed will mostly be in the background!
> 
> now, i hope someone out there enjoys this silly idea as much as i do. c:

Moving to a new city always requires some time for adjusting. It takes about four days for Angela Ziegler to fully move into her new apartment and just a little longer than that to get settled into her new clinic. At the end of her first week, she is also kidnapped by a man who calls himself _Doomfist_ and touts around a glove that looks suspiciously like a mitten bedazzled around the knuckles. She is tied to a chair while the self-proclaimed super villain uses a megaphone to outline his evil scheme, and then she is swiftly rescued by a group of self-proclaimed super heroes who call themselves Overwatch.

"You're safe now, ma'am." This first time, it is a real-life talking  _ape_ who unties her and helps her to her feet.

Angela is reasonably terrified and can only watch mutely as her kidnapper is hauled off in a blur of screaming and cursing. 

One week later, she is _also_ terrified when she is literally swept off her feet as soon as she steps out of the clinic, into the arms of a woman with  _BW_ emblazoned across her chest (for _Birdwoman,_  as Angela later learns through the news). Overwatch makes the next day's headlines for saving a local doctor from an evildoer who could control the city pigeons.

Angela takes up self-defense lessons after the fourth time. Fortunately, the "villains" who would pick her to be their weekly hostage are often incompetent anyway and never actually do any harm to her, and Overwatch always arrives before she's late for work and is forced to mace that week's villain so she can get to the clinic on time.

After the seventh time, Angela Ziegler resigns herself to her fate. Is there something about her that attracted masked, overzealous fools, she wonders? The media wonders the same thing.

"What is it like, Ms. Ziegler?" reporters often ask after the latest whirlwind of chaos, when Overwatch has cleared the area and there is no one else for them to hound for the salacious details. "How do you feel, being targeted so often by these heinous criminals?"

(They're more people with too much time and sewing abilities on their hands, in her opinion, but she digresses.)

"I admit I am frightened," she says every time, quashing boredom and the distinct urge to return to her work, "but I also know that Overwatch will always be there to save me."

She feels ridiculous as she says it, but she sees the way the people's eyes light up with such _hope_ , and she decides that can't be so terrible, right?

It's after an explosive run-in with a duo who call themselves  _Junkrat_ and  _Roadhog_  that she receives a call from one Jack Morrison, an old friend who lived in the city and had apparently seen her face on the news. His first words to her are, "I'm sorry you're in this fucking city," and Angela smiles fondly because at least if she's in "this fucking city," not only is she helping people at the clinic, but she is technically taking the place of anyone else who might be kidnapped. Spending two or three hours a week as someone's "hostage" seems a small price to pay to make sure that others are safe; besides, sometimes the villains are so fixated on bringing down Overwatch that they don't notice Angela's ties are loose and she can read online scientific journals on her phone until Overwatch comes to deal with the villain.

The kidnappings stop when she moves into the new apartment. Jack lives on the floor below her, and she finds herself falling back into the old dynamics of their friendship. She continues to work at the clinic (but takes a different route to and from home), and she even gets to know her new neighbors.

After a blissfully uneventful three weeks, she regains hope that she might actually return to a normal life after all.

* * *

It’s four in the morning, and there is someone trying to break into her apartment. This is justification for why Angela finds herself inching down a dark hallway with an umbrella clutched in one hand, thumb poised over the small button that would…open the umbrella. (A pinch less exciting than the explosive umbrellas of typical spy movies, but it twirls like a baton and she knows where to strike someone at the back of the neck to safely knock them unconscious.)

The person at the door stops jangling the doorknob as soon as she steps into her living room, but she presses on anyway. The light moves under the door, two shadows undoubtedly from a pair of feet, and she can hear the faint sounds of metal-on-metal.

Then: A particularly loud bang. A groan of pain.

Angela reaches the door and holds her breath. Perhaps it _isn’t_ a burglar—she has no experience being burgled before (only kidnapped, about a dozen times), but she feels like they wouldn’t be so reckless . Maybe another self-proclaimed super villain has finally found her out and she won't be able to pick up that extra shift at the clinic after all.

“Fuck,” she hears someone mutter—though she almost thinks it’s some _thing_ first, because it doesn’t sound like a human voice, but garbled and touched by static. A voice filter, she decides. The latter theory is beginning to sound more likely.

She lines her eye with the peephole.

There is someone in a metal suit stumbling around her hallway.

Great.

With a great sigh, Angela twists the knob and swings open the door. “I'm right here,” she says with a strained patience, “could you please be q—"

_Zzppp!_

Her voice pitches embarrassingly high at the end of the word _quiet_  as the person jerks around in a flash of green and silver, launching something sharp that narrowly misses her and buries itself in the doorframe. Angela does _not_ panic, she certainly _means_ to press the umbrella button and catch the stranger in the chest, driving them back into the door on the other side of the hall.

She's seen her fair share of ridiculous uniforms, swathes of spandex and capes in all colors of the rainbow, but none of them have looked like  _this_.

“Miss,” she hears the same garbled voice call out to her, “please d—”

“Leave before I call the police!” she hisses—a compromise between a whisper and a yell. It’s still four in the morning, after all; it would be rude to wake anyone else up.

She shoves the person a little harder, keeping them pinned with the open umbrella. It results in another loud _clang_ as their ridiculous metal suit knocks against the door, and Angela winces, thinking, _Apologies, Mr. Shimada, but I am potentially saving our lives._

“Leave,” she repeats meaningfully, blowing a loose strand of hair away from her face. She gives the umbrella another jab.

The stranger struggles. “Miss, I _cannot_ —”

Right.

Angela glances back, trying to estimate how long it would take to drop the umbrella, lock herself back in her apartment, and call the police. Instead, her eye catches on the object lodged in her doorframe—a _shuriken_? It looks properly embedded there and will probably leave a deep gouge.

Now angry, Angela frees one of her hands to tug at the weapon, but it’s fixed solidly in the plaster and she only succeeds in cutting one of her fingers. The jolt of pain is small but enough to make her drop the umbrella, and she hears more clanking as the stranger is able to squirm free.

“Don’t touch that!” says the same garbled voice. 

When Angela looks up, she gets her first proper look at them: Silver suit encroaching the entirety of their body, a glowing green visor, and…a sheathed _sword_ slung over its back? If this is an omnic, she definitely doesn't recognize them.

She decides that they’re standing a little too close for her liking.

“You tried to hurt me,” she accuses, taking half a step backwards. She gropes for the doorway with one hand, ignoring the wetness dripping down her wrist. 

“I did not mean to. I apologize.” The stranger actually seems to become diffident, lowering their head slightly.

Angela bites her lip, wondering if she ought to turn and dash inside now. “Yes, well.” She huffs quietly and pushes another errant strand of hair away from her face. “It was— very dangerous.”

The stranger nods. “You took me by surprise,” they say, by way of explanation. They lift their head, and Angela waits for further recompense — there’s a _shuriken_ stuck in her doorway, for goodness’s sake — but the stranger only continues, “It was only a human reaction, faced with a beauty such as yourself.”

There is a beat of silence.

Angela takes up the umbrella and wields it in front of her threateningly. “I am calling the police,” she declares, and if her voice wavers or if her face is a distinct shade of red called _mortification_ , then she will blame it on _Dummköpfe_ who wear strange armor and carry around blades in the dead of night.

When she tilts the umbrella to the side, she catches a glimpse of that very fool retreating quickly down the hall. Once he’s a good distance away, she collapses the umbrella and shutters herself back inside her apartment.

She dutifully ignores the burning in her face as she clicks a few lights on and searches for her first aid kit. The wound at least looks small and shallow. “ _Wo habe ich die…_ Ah.”

She finds the kit just as her phone buzzes on the night stand. Mindful of the blood, she uses her pinky to swipe across the screen and finds a sleep-mangled text from Lena.  

> **From: Lena  
>  ** **To: Angela  
>  ** angggggiiiiiieee love ya but keep it down gotta wake up early tmrow

Before she can begin to type a response, a knock comes at her door.

Angela pretends her face doesn’t heat up again at the thought of that— that _stranger_ and cautiously makes her way back. “Who is it?” she calls out, moving from the bedroom to the living room again.

“Ms. Ziegler? I heard a commotion. Is everything…”

Relief washes over her when she recognizes the voice, but it’s quickly followed by guilt. “I’ll be right there, Mr. Shimada.” She grabs a strip of paper towel to press to her wound for the moment.

She opens the door, ready to apologize, but the words die on her tongue when she sees Hanzo Shimada standing in front of her door, frowning down at the slightly bloody shuriken in his hand. The man has always come across as intimidating ever since she moved in across from him, but with him wearing a tied-off bathrobe that Angela can most accurately define as _baby blue_ , he seems considerably less so.

“I have told you before to call me Hanzo. Mr. Shimada was my father.”

She sees his eyes flick downwards—she’s suddenly aware of the horrendously mismatched striped tank top and plaid pajama pants that she’s wearing, but Hanzo’s gaze is fixed on her bloody hand, apparently putting two and two together.

“Are you hurt?” His frown deepens.

“It’s a small cut, nothing to worry about." _I have been held hostage on top of skyscrapers before._  "I am so sorry for waking you.” Angela sneaks a glance down the hall to make sure it’s empty. “I think there was someone trying to break into my apartment, and I was afraid they would try to break into yours as well…”

“Did you see who it was?”

“Yes and no. They were…” She makes a helpless gesture up and down herself, struggling to form an explanation that doesn’t sound completely absurd. People in uniforms and capes are one thing, but robots?

“Wearing a metal suit?” Hanzo Shimada offers, to her surprise.

She blinks. “Well— Yes, actually, with a green visor…” She stops. “Do you know them?”

Hanzo pauses. “No,” he says curtly. “There have been similar sightings for the past month, but no serious harm has been done."

She must have missed that between moving in and trying to adjust to the new clinic. “I was actually just about to call the police.”

“No need. I will deal with him, Ms. Ziegler. Take care of yourself first.”

Hanzo Shimada then disappears back into his own apartment, and it isn’t until he quietly closes the door that Angela realizes he had known the stranger was a _him_ and that he had kept the shuriken.

“It’s too early for any of this,” Angela mutters, closing her own door. If anyone comes by looking for someone to take hostage, they'll have to knock.

She cleans and bandages her cut quickly, but by then it feels impossible to go back to sleep. _Four hours has been the weekly average anyway_ , she thinks, only slightly gloomy. She starts a pot of coffee before she remembers to reply to Lena.

> _To: Lena  
>  _ _From: Angela  
>  _ Sorry :-(

She finds a book to read until sunrise. 

To her pleasant surprise, no one comes to kidnap her.

* * *

> _To: Unknown number_  
>  _From: Hanzo Shimada_  
>  Do not terrorize my neighbor. She is under Morrison's guard.
> 
> **From: Unknown number  
>  ** **To: Hanzo Shimada  
>  ** it was an accident. i forgot which door was yours
> 
> **From: Unknown number  
>  ** **To: Hanzo Shimada  
>  ** she moved in recently yes?
> 
> **From: Unknown number  
>  ** **To: Hanzo Shimada  
>  ** she seemed nice
> 
> _To: Unknown number_  
>  _From: Hanzo Shimada  
>  _ She is a civilian. Do not bother her.
> 
> _To: Unknown number_  
>  _From: Hanzo Shimada  
>  _ Do you not have your own home to go to? 
> 
> _To: Unknown number  
>  _ _From: Hanzo Shimada  
>  _ (A rhetorical question. Go home.)

* * *

“A _burglar_?” Lena’s brown eyes blow wide as if the single word deeply affects her. “Last night? _That’s_ what all the ruckus was?” Her eyebrows knit together in concern as she reaches for Angela’s hand across the table.

“I’m _fine_ , Lena,” Angela insists. It’s hard to eat cereal with her left hand.

“That’s weird,” Jesse comments with a shake of his head as he takes out the box of leftovers from the microwave. It’s seven o’clock in the morning and he’s already wearing his hat, but honestly, Angela has seen enough oddities in the past twelve hours to be unfazed by it. “We don’t have a hist’ry of burglaries ‘round here, but if you file a complaint, ‘m sure Winston will take care of it.”

He slumps into the chair next to her and wastes no time digging into his food.

“Yeah!” Lena pitches in. “D’you want me to tell Winston for you?”

Angela has come to learn that Lena is apparently the only one who has any direct contact with their landlord, so she nods slowly. “Yes…? I… I suppose he ought to know, but I really don’t think it’s anything to be worried about. Mr. Shi— Er, Hanzo said he would take care of it.”

Angela had been contemplating keeping the information to herself—the more she thought about the encounter, the less threatening and more ridiculous it seemed, and she didn’t want to worry any of the other tenants. But Lena was the first friend she made when she first moved in, not counting Jack, and they had grown considerably close in the past month.

Also, Lena had refused to let her leave the communal kitchen until Angela explained what happened to her hand. 

So here they are.

“There was a burglar,” Lena insists. “That’s definitely something we should worried about, right, Jesse?”

Jesse makes an emphatic noise through a mouthful of food.

“I don’t want to scare anyone. If he was _really_ a burglar,” Angela grumbles, “he was possibly the worst—he wasn’t quiet at all, and he…” _He flirted with me, I think_ , she thinks to herself, but that would sound silly so she says instead, “He ran away at the end.”

“What a sham,” Lena says, shaking her head.

“What are you all so excited about this early in the morning?” Jack’s voice interrupts them as he steps into the kitchen.

Before Angela can think of a calm, rational explanation, Lena says, “Angie single-handedly fought off a burglar last night!”

Unhelpfully, Jesse adds, “With her _bare_ _hands_.”

“I had an umbrella,” Angela protests.

“Well, shit, that’s even more badass.”

Jack is now staring at her with the same scrutinizing expression he often fixes on crossword puzzles. It means she won’t be getting away until he knows the answer.

Angela groans.

“I appreciate everyone’s concerns, but I _really_ don’t think it’s anything we should be worried about. I mean, the man was dressed as some sort of cyborg ninja, for heaven’s sake! He might have been drunk and just got off on the wrong floor. The only thing I’m worried about at the moment is the scratch on my door. I think Winston should know about _that_.”

“Angie,” Jack says, and Angela becomes aware of their wide-eyed stares, “did you say he was dressed as a cyborg…ninja?”

“Yes,” she replies with as much dignity as she can muster. “I attempted to tell him that Halloween was last week. He threw a shuriken at me.”

Lena makes a strange noise. Jack’s expression, Angela notices, has begun to darken.

“Huh. You should’ve told us that from the beginning,” Jesse says. Angela catches him glancing uncertainly in Jack’s direction, but she’s not quite sure why. “Now he definitely just sounds like a drunk, right, Lena?”

“Or maybe one of those vigilantes who’ve been running around the city,” Lena says, nodding quickly.

Jack sends her a sharp look.

“Or…a drunk," Lena says, nodding not so quickly. "Yeah, definitely.” Her hair sways as she glances between the two men.

Angela raises an eyebrow and opens her mouth to say something, but then Lena bursts out, “Oh—blimey, I lost track of time, I’m going to be late for work!” She shoots up to her feet, nearly toppling her chair over. “I’ll take care of everything with Winston, don’t you worry!”

Angela watches as she practically leaves the room in a blur.

“I’m, er—”

Jack _glowers_ at Jesse.

“—off to do some shit,” Jesse says, seemingly impervious to it. “I’ll keep an eye out for any umbrellas you could add to your arsenal, darlin’.”

“How kind of you,” Angela says.

Jesse tips his hat at her before leaving the room, whistling innocently.

“Did I say something?” She turns to Jack questioningly.

“No,” Jack says without missing a beat. “They’re all just weird.”

“ _Jack_.” She laughs, nudging his foot under the table. “Don’t say that, they’re…quirky. Charming.”

She's only met about half a dozen of the other tenants in total, but everyone she _has_ met has been nothing but welcoming. Even Hanzo with his intimidating aura was polite.

“Some less than others,” Jack mutters.

Angela chuckles, shaking her head as she stands. “I’m going to go to the library before work,” she tells him, smiling warmly. “Are we still set for a late lunch?”

“Of course.”

“I’ll see you then.”

It’s on her way out of the kitchen that Jack calls after her, “Hey, Ange?”

She glances back.

“…Be careful, will you?”

She has known Jack Morrison for years, which means that she knows, despite his deadpan tone, that there is an underlying sincerity.

“Always,” she assures him.

* * *

> **From: Lena  
>  ** **To: Genji  
>  ** hey did you come by the building last night???? someone got hurt, i think you know who, i know you prolly didn’t mean to but just be careful next time !!
> 
> **From: Ana  
>  ** **To: Genji  
>  ** Please be more careful after missions, Genji.
> 
> **From: McCree  
>  ** **To: Genji  
>  ** hey, don’t hurt the lady again. also, TOLD ya the suit was too flashy
> 
> **From: Hanzo  
>  ** **To: Genji  
>  ** I received several concerned messages about last night, so I will reiterate: Do not. Terrorize. My. Neighbor.
> 
> **From: Hana  
>  ** **To: Genji  
>  ** lol the commander’s furious what did u doooo
> 
> **From: Morrison  
>  ** **To: Genji  
>  ** If you hurt Angela again I will break you
> 
> **From: Winston  
>  ** **To: Genji  
>  ** Please remember our policies surrounding civilians, Genji
> 
> _To: All contacts  
>  _ _From: Genji  
>  _ HELLO EVERYONE I WAS TIRED AND DID NOT REALIZE I WAS TRYING TO OPEN THE WRONG DOOR, PLEASE STOP ATTACKING ME

    

> _To: Morrison_  
>  _From: Genji_  
>  her name is Angela?
> 
> **From: Morrison  
>  ** **To: Genji  
>  ** I will break you

* * *

> _To: All contacts  
>  __From: ATHENA  
>  _ HOSTAGE SITUATION CALLED IN AT APPROX. 8:53AM. TWO TARGETS, ONE CIVILIAN IDENTIFIED. ALL AVAILABLE CONTACTS CONVERGE AT WOODFORD PUBLIC LIBRARY.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Angela's going to speak German in this fic; i know she's from Switzerland and Swiss German is pretty different from German, but in game, she speaks actual German?? with that said, i took five years of the language but i'm not a native speaker by any means, so please let me know if i made/make any mistakes!  
> -any & all places in this fic are fictional.  
> -thank you to anyone hitching on for the ride. it's gonna be wild, folks


	2. ii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaa i was blown away by the positive response to this fic, i feel like i could cry?? thank you so much to everyone who left kudos/comments, i'm so happy that you guys are as into this as i am!! the past few days have been sort of busy for me & most of my free time was spent writing this chapter so i didn't get to reply to anyone, but i promise i'll start from now on. i'm on tumblr under @[glowroseate](http://glowroseate.tumblr.com) as well if you want to yell at/with me there. :>
> 
> i feel obligated to put a slight spoiler warning for the ending of Steinbeck's novel "Of Mice and Men," if it matters to anyone. just...don't read the first paragraph this chapter? omg
> 
> with that said, here's more silliness!

George is about to shoot Lenny when an explosion decimates a corner of the building, and Angela is effectively yanked from the safe confines of her book and thrust back into reality, where two familiar silhouettes are loping through the newly-blasted hole.

Around her, civilians throw themselves to various places of cover—behind a column, behind an armchair, or under the paperback novel they were reading. There’s one thing they’re all doing similarly, though, and that’s _screaming_.

“Dr. Ziegler! Quick, get down!” Angela catches a glimpse of the damage before she is tugged quickly behind a couch; it doesn’t look like anyone is hurt, thankfully.

She looks over to who had tugged her down, a younger woman she had been sitting next to. The back of the sofa barely covers both of them, but Angela figures she won’t be hiding for long anyway. 

“Are they here for you?” the woman whispers, sounding reasonably afraid. Angela almost doesn’t hear her through the ringing in her ears.

“I don’t know,” she answers. 

She’d really like to say, _They’re not here for me specifically, but I would bet that they’ll find me anyway._ Once again, she checks if she’s wearing some sort of magnet, but no—she’s just genetically imbued with the worst luck, apparently.

“W-We should do something!” her new acquaintance urges. “Call the police!”

The sounds of screeching tires and wailing sirens join the chaos, and Angela thinks, _Huh. On time for once._ She’s about to peek out from behind the couch, see if any police are rushing in yet, but then a familiar accented voice rings out: “The hell is _this_?”

The screaming has stopped, replaced by more subdued whimpering. 

“This kind of paper ain’t green… Oi, Hog, did you rig them explosives at the right wall?”

“ _Mein Gott_ ,” Angela mutters, unfortunately recognizing the voice.

“Wha’zzat?”

A grunt.

“Oh no, no, no, you were s’posed to put them on the _left_ wall! When I say the _right_ wall, I mean the correct wall, ya dipstick!”

Another grunt.

“No way, mate, I was crys-ta-lline clear! You w— Ah, dammit, never mind, we got bigger problems now.”

Angela wraps an arm protectively around the other woman, murmuring, “Shh, it'll be all right.”  She can hear two distinct sets of footsteps, but unfortunately not the familiar rushing feet of policemen leaping into action—which is too bad, because now it sounds like their attackers are—

“Well, well, _well_.”

—right above them. 

“What ‘ave we got _here_?” Junkrat’s masked face, upside down but no less maniacal, fills her vision.

_Typical_ , Angela thinks, clutching the other woman tighter. _I’m going to be late for work, which means I'll have more paperwork to catch up on, which means lunch might not happen..._

“Oi, Hog! Gimme your chain, will ya’?”

Sighing, Angela retracts her arms from the other woman. “Could you hold this, please?” She hands over the Steinbeck novel with a vague sense of mourning. She hadn’t even been able to tuck her bookmark into place. “If I don’t come back for it, would you mind giving it to the front desk?”

The other woman only stares at her with wide eyes, and Angela awkwardly places the book in her lap, pats it, and stands.

“We’ve got’cha now!” Junkrat declares gleefully.

“Oh my,” she says, “what ever will I do.”

“Quick, before she gets away!”

As a thick chain is wrapped and secured around her, Angela only regrets that she cannot raise her hands to wipe the dust from her face.

She assesses her captors as they bicker over what to do next. This is the second time she’s run into them, though she never did find out how their first encounter ended, whether the junkers had managed to escape or if they managed to evade Overwatch completely. Either way, they’re still clearly running loose with a few improvements: Junkrat’s hair looks slightly less singed, Roadhog appears to have a new tattoo over his bare belly, and they are both wielding clunky-but-lethal-looking guns. Obviously, it is the latter that concerns Angela the most, because Roadhog’s gun is pressing into the flat of her back now.

“So here’s the plan, sweetheart,” Junkrat says, and Angela stares, nonplussed at the pet name. “You’re gonna be our metaphorical _key_ to the bank right next door.”

“I hope you’re aware I cannot actually open any of the vaults.”

“ ‘course not, that’s what the bombs are for. You’re coming with us to make sure no one tries any funny business.”

“So you plan to march in there, allow yourself to be surrounded, plant the explosives, set them off, collect the money, _and_ fight your way out, all while making sure I don’t get away?”

Junkrat grumbles something that doesn’t actually sound like a counter to her question. “Get movin’ already, Doc.”

_Doc?_ The media likes to conveniently omit that she is a fully trained and capable doctor, so Junkrat must have either done his research, or he’s seen her at work before.

Angela raises an eyebrow and studies the back of his head. Now that she thinks about it, there _is_ something familiar about that wild head of hair—

“Freeze!” someone shouts when they step out of the hole.

Angela counts five police cars parked in front of the library and about a dozen officers, all in position with their guns aimed. She glances up discreetly, but other than a helicopter emblazoned with a news channel logo, there is no sign of Overwatch.

“We’re walkin’ right next door,” Junkrat shouts to the officers. “If any one of you comes and tries to interrupt us, and you’re gonna need a doctor for the doctor!”

Angela cringes.

* * *

 

> _To: Winston_  
>  _From: Genji_  
>  I’m two minutes away. do we have an ID on the targets or the hostage?
> 
> _To: Winston  
>  From: Genji  
>  _ hello?

* * *

> _To: ATHENA_  
>  _From: Genji_  
>  can you ID the targets and the hostage?
> 
> **To: Genji  
>  From: ATHENA  
>  ** I’m sorry, but it appears that you have replied to an automated message. Please remember that my primary function on this service is to provide updates and I am incapable of generating unique replies.
> 
> _To: ATHENA_  
>  _From: Genji_  
>  don’t lie to me. I know you and Bastion text each other good morning every day
> 
> **To: Genji  
>  From: ATHENA** _  
> _ Well played.
> 
> **To: Genji  
>  From: ATHENA  
>  ** Based off of street camera images, I have identified the targets as Jamison Fawkes and Mako Rutledge and the hostage as Angela Ziegler.

* * *

“Hey, that worked,” Junkrat marvels when they make it inside the bank, as if he didn’t really expect it to. Angela wishes she could put a hand on her forehead in exasperation.

“Did he really put the explosives on the wrong building?” she asks.

Junkrat frowns and leans in a bit. “It was an honest mistake, all right, get off my mate’s back.”

Angela looks down pointedly. “I am not on anyone’s back.”

Junkrat narrows his eyes at her.

“The vault’s here,” Roadhog grumbles somewhere ahead of them. He might be speaking normally, but the gas mask makes everything sound like a grumble. 

Junkrat tells her to _stay put and don’t even breathe_ , which means that Angela gets to lean tiredly against a counter while the two rig up the explosives. The chains are starting to take their toll on her core — _I need to get back in shape,_ she thinks idly — and she can’t help but hunch over a little, trying to ease the strain on her chest.

When there’s a loud crash, she simply closes her eyes so that the debris doesn’t blind her. (She learned her lesson from the third time she was kidnapped by someone who called themselves the Sandman and gave off sand every time there was a breeze.)

“Barrier activated!” a new voice calls out, and her eyes fly open. She smiles widely when she sees a familiar gorilla standing in the busted-open doorways of the bank. “Target two has the detonator,” says Winston. Angela, having done this so many times that it might actually become muscle memory, gladly pushes off the wall and dashes for the safety of the barrier.

“No fair!” Junkrat cries out, and Angela hears a single shot fire from one of their guns and then bounce harmlessly off of Winston’s barrier. A window shatters. She didn’t see who fired, but it must have been Roadhog, because by the time she turns to look, Junkrat is an unmoving lump on the floor and both the detonator and his gun lie a good distance away from him.

Alarmed, she takes a step towards his unconscious form. “Wait, is he—”

“Stay in the barrier, Ms. Ziegler!”

She is held back by one of Winston’s large hands—probably for the best, since Roadhog grunts and fires again before abruptly slumping to the floor as well.

“What happened to them? Are they hurt?” Angela whirls on Winston. He’s usually the one who comes in to save her, if not the young woman who calls herself D.Va, but she’s never seen any of their enemies drop like that.

“It’s all right. They’re only asleep.”

“Oh? That’s new.”

“Ah, we figured it was the best way to contain these two. See over there?” He gestures to the broken window, and Angela takes a step back to squint at whoever might be on the other side. “That’s Horus. She’s got our backs.”

There’s…no one there. Angela lifts a bound hand as best as she can and waves anyway, because invisibility wouldn’t be completely impossible in this city.

Across the street, in the shadowed windows of a bar, she actually sees a hand wave back. 

“Hello,” says a disembodied voice right next to her.

Angela jumps slightly. “Hello?”

Winston chuckles and takes out his communicator, a small device that reminds her of a compact mirror. 

“It is a pleasure to finally speak to you,” says the voice again.

“Horus is our resident sharpshooter,” Winston explains, pride evident in his tone. He sounds like that when he talks about his teammates, and Angela finds it nice that they seem to be a close bunch. “She’s been with us on almost every mission, but her skill set is most effective at long range.”

_She’s been there every time?_ “In that case, the pleasure is all mine, Horus,” Angela says, beaming. “Thank you for everything you’ve done.”

A chuckle. “You are already more gracious than half of my charges. I like you.”

Once, her mind would have spun at the notion of being on such familiar, even _casual_ terms with super heroes. Nowadays, she hopes that they might eventually be familiar enough that Winston would let her study that barrier projector, or perhaps Soldier 76’s biotic field…

“Do you need help with that chain, doctor?”

“I’ve got it, thank you.” She squeezes her arms together until the chain goes slack and drops to the floor, landing in a neat circle that she can step out of. She rolls her shoulders back a few times, sighing contently at her regained freedom.

Winston looks bemused but says nothing, moving over to inspect the unconscious duo. “Both targets are sleeping soundly,” he says into his communicator. “I’m preparing to extract.”

_It would be quite a twist if he truly happened to be my new land lord,_ Angela thinks, and it’s such a ridiculous thought that she shakes her head and chuckles to herself.

“The perimeter is secured and the police are ready to receive the suspects," says Horus.

“Ready to go?” Winston has Roadhog slung over his back and Junkrat in one of his arms. Angela would say that this is the oddest sight she’s seen in her life, but she doesn’t want to speak too soon.

Before she can answer, Winston’s communicator crackles to life again, and Horus says, sounding equally confused and concerned. “Winston, we have a code green.”

A frown creases Winston’s features. “Now? Why?”

“I…am not sure. I have a sightline of him right now, and it appears he is en route to your location.”

Angela looks to the window again, curious. All she can see are police cars and half of an ambulance. “What is a code green?”

“Nothing to worry about,” Winston says, looking a touch nervous. “Horus, would you mind intercepting him?”

“Don’t worry,” interrupts a third voice, low and gravelly with a hint of moodiness. Angela can only assume that it is Soldier 76. “I’ve got him.”

“Copy.”

“Horus, I need an update on his location.”

“What was that?” yet another voice chimes in. It’s loud and cheery, with an accent that reminds her of Lena’s. “Code green? I could get him real quick, commander!”

“For the last time, Tracer, I am not your commander, and— what did I say about using the comms when you’re not on a mission?”

“Sorry, sorry! I came on to tell you that you left the oven on and now the ham is burnt, and I just overheard everything else…”

“Soldier 76 cooks?” Angela marvels.

“He tries to,” Winston says grimly.

“I can hear you,” Soldier 76 says.

“So can I,” a new voice cuts in, one that Angela _feels_ like she ought to recognize, “and I must ask, Commander, why you are actively interfering with fate—”

“For the last time, I’m not your c— Dammit, exactly how many of you are on this comm?”

“ _Annyeong!_ ” chirps someone else.

A ragged sigh from Soldier. “D.Va, I’ve told you that you can’t stream private communication lines—”

“Jeez, _Dad_ , I’m not streaming, just tuning into one of my favorite sitcoms!”

“Agents,” Winston says, looking incredibly tired, “please use one of the subchannels for further communication. Thank you.”

Angela feels it would be rude to laugh, so she suppresses the one threatening to escape her mouth. 

Together, they walk outside, where they are greeted by a sizable crowd of civilians, officers, and reporters alike. She barely has time to thank Winston (again) before he’s called away by policemen, and as reporters push and pull at each other to get shots of Junkrat and Roadhog being loaded into the back of a well-armored truck, Angela manages to slip into the small alleyway between the bank and the library. She sneaks a glance into the library as she passes—it’s already been emptied and sectioned off by police tape.

She makes it three steps down the alley when a sudden breeze rushes past her, which would be normal if she wasn’t standing between two brick walls and the breeze had blown perpendicularly.

She looks up, frowning, and sees nothing but the top edges of the buildings and the blue, blue sky.

Hm.

_I’ll have to come back for the book tomorrow,_ she thinks, shaking it off and hurrying down the alley. _Maybe Jack will want to reschedule lunch for tomorrow as well? I should—_

She hears the distinct clang of metal, followed by a small yelp.

“Excuse me!” she calls upwards, unable to keep the impatience from her voice, “I am already late for work, so could any more kidnappings please wait until tonight? Thank you!”

She emerges on the other side of the block unscathed and muttering, “ _Ridiculous_.”

She’s eleven minutes late when she finally arrives at the clinic, which turns into thirteen minutes after she grabs her bag from behind a flower pot and changes in the bathroom. She reemerges in scrubs and her hair pulled into a ponytail, any signs of _I was just held hostage fifteen minutes ago_ replaced by a professional front.

“Rough morning?” Mei asks without looking up from her computer. 

Angela groans as she grabs her clipboard and begins leafing through that day’s appointments. “Of sorts.”

In the corner of the waiting room, the television is tuned to a news channel. _JUNKERS IN JEOPARDY!_ shouts a scrolling ribbon of text at the bottom. _OVERWATCH SAFELY APPREHENDS TWO CRIMINALS AND PREVENTS SERIOUS CASUALTIES._ A reporter is interviewing Soldier 76—it looks like they took care of that code green, whatever it was.

Meanwhile, Mei is laughing. “I have to give you credit, though. You always seem prepared for things like that.”

Angela tucks her bangs behind her ear and smiles tryingly at her partner. “I only hope for the best and prepare for the worst.”

* * *

 

> _To: McCree_  
>  _From: Genji_  
>  where can I file a complaint for the commander scratching one of my plates
> 
> **To: Genji  
>  From: McCree** _  
> _ have you ever considered,
> 
> **To: Genji  
>  From: McCree** _  
> _ that maybe your highly impractical uniform is the problem,
> 
> _To: McCree_  
>  _From: Genji_  
>  MY UNIFORM IS LITERALLY MY BODY
> 
> _To: McCree  
>  From: Genji  
>  _ also, you willingly wear leather chaps and cowboy hats into missions, don’t lecture me about impracticality
> 
> **To: Genji  
>  From: McCree** _  
> _ okay now that was just hurtful

* * *

 

> **To: Genji  
>  From: Hanzo** _  
> _ Please stop insulting Jesse’s hat. He is now in my home and I am tired of having to reassure him that he does not look ridiculous.
> 
> _To: Hanzo  
>  From: Genji  
>  _ wait why do you let him into your apartment when half the time you don’t even let me in

* * *

 

> **To: Angela  
>  ** **From: Jack  
>  ** You made it to work safely?
> 
> _To: Jack_  
>  _From: Angela_  
>  Yes! Thanks for checking up on me :-)
> 
> **To: Angela  
>  From: Jack** _  
> _ I heard you disappeared pretty quickly from the scene. Some people thought you were taken again
> 
> _To: Jack_  
>  _From: Angela_  
>  No, usually that doesn’t happen twice a day.
> 
> _To: Jack  
>  From: Angela  
>  _ About lunch though, I don’t think I can make it after all, sorry! I had more work to catch up on than I thought. Reschedule to tomorrow?
> 
> **To: Angela  
>  From: Jack** _  
> _ “Usually”
> 
> **To: Angela  
>  From: Jack** _  
> _ Don’t worry about it. Tomorrow works. Lena said she’s on break around the same time, so she might come too
> 
> _To: Jack  
>  From: Angela  
>  _ Sounds good!
> 
> **To: Angela  
>  From: Jack** _  
> _ And about last night. Let me know if you see someone like that again, Winston will want to know
> 
> _To: Jack  
>  From: Angela  
>  _ Will do, but I hope you’re not still worrying, I can handle myself. On that note though, do you ever find it strange that our land lord shares the same name as the one Overwatch gorilla?
> 
> **To: Angela  
>  From: Jack** _  
> _ He prefers to be called a scientist
> 
> **To: Angela  
>  From: Jack** _  
> _ I mean. That’s what he said on TV before
> 
> **To: Angela  
>  From: Jack** _  
> _ But yeah I guess the coincidence is weird

* * *

Angela yawns and rolls her chair away from the desk so she can stretch, sighing when she feels a few joints pop. She doesn’t realize that her eyes are burning until she takes them off of the computer screen.

_Ah, I lost track of time..._

The clinic is eerily silent — Mei had left hours ago with a cheerful reminder of, “Don’t stay in too late today, Dr. Ziegler.” Angela now slightly regrets not taking her advice.

She lets her research save on a flash drive while she cleans her desk. It’s a smooth process that she has practiced many times, so it doesn’t take long at all until the computer is shutting down, all of the lights are off, and she is leaving the clinic with her bag slung over one shoulder.  It’s dark when she steps outside, but the chilly air surprises her more than anything. It feels twenty degrees colder than it had been in the morning, and as she hurries down the sidewalk, she curses herself for not bringing a jacket.

She is a block away from home when a familiar man in metal quite literally drops from the sky and lands in front of her with a simple, “Greetings!”

Angela’s canister of mace is out and aimed in record time.

The man fumbles in panic, quickly raising a hand to defend himself. "W-Wait!"

Angela does wait, but she keeps her fingers on the trigger. He still has the upper hand, she realizes faintly—she can’t mace through that mask of his, and her bare hands can’t do much against all that metal, despite Jesse's faith in her. 

_Maybe I can convince him to take his mask off... Or_ _I could somehow distract him and try to run. The building is close enough…_

But if the man also realizes that he has the advantage, he doesn't use it against her. Instead, he takes a step back. 

As they look at each other in silence, Angela faintly entertains the idea that he could be harmless after all.  _A drunk?_ she wonders, remembering what Lena said. Her gaze moves to the shuttered building next to them, where the man must have been perched before he jumped.  _No, he landed too nimbly to be drunk._

“ _Greetings_?” she finally questions, furrowing her brow in mild confusion.

To her surprise, the man chuckles. It’s an oddly organic sound, even with his voice filter, and she thinks it even sounds a little embarrassed. “I meant, hi,” he says. 

Angela lowers her arm slightly, just enough to see how his visor dims at her reaction. “Can I help you with something?”

The man clears his throat, then tilts his head at her. “I was, ah, told that somebody left this book.” He brings out his other hand, and under the orange glow of the street lamps, Angela sees that he is holding a copy of a certain Steinbeck novel. “I have been looking for its owner. You haven't seen her, by any chance? She is about your height and just as stunning."

Oh. 

Angela slowly retracts her hand and tucks her mace back into her bag. “It’s a library book,” she tells him slowly. “Technically, no one owns it.”

She eyes him, watching how his shoulders slump a little.

“However,” she says, because admittedly it  _is_ a thoughtful gesture and she'd like to know how the book ends, “I _was_ meaning to borrow it…” And so she reaches for the book and he hands it to her, and in that movement, their fingers brush together. Angela shivers; she blames it on the wind and quickly clutches the book to her chest.

“I would also like to apologize for last night,” the man murmurs. Angela can’t tell if he’s looking at her but his visor has definitely brightened a few shades, and he’s rubbing at his own hand as if he also felt the contact. _Did he?_ “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It’s all right,” she finds herself saying softly. “That was my own carelessness."

The man shakes his head. “No, it really was m—”

A sudden whine of static slices through the air, effectively interrupting their conversation.

Angela startles, and the man fumbles again, hurrying to press something at the side of his visor. 

“Genji!” someone cries out in distress. “I think the commander’s onto us—abort mission, I repeat, _abort mission_ —”

_That voice... I've heard it before_ , Angela thinks, racking her memory.  _Is that D.Va? Why is he... Is he part of Overwatch?_

Her second thought is,  _Genji? Is that his name?_

Before she can ask, the man curses and takes two running steps backwards. "I'm afraid I must go now," he mutters, and before he turns and takes off running in the opposite direction, Angela catches a glimpse of his visor, seemingly brighter than ever. "Have a lovely evening, Dr. Ziegler!" he throws over his shoulder.

Dazed from the encounter, Angela stays rooted to the same spot for several long minutes and doesn’t even think about calling after him until long after he’s disappeared into the shadows.

A particularly cold gust of wind breaks her reverie. 

When she’s certain that there will be no more people dropping from the sky, she hurries into the apartment building, book and bag clutched protectively in her arms, gooseflesh raised over her arms.

It isn’t until she is standing in the elevator that she gets a proper look at the book. Sure enough, it’s the same copy that she was reading that morning, and she tries to imagine how that man might have come across it, how long he might have waited to see her again.

She thumbs through the pages, trying to find her spot again, only to stop when she reaches the middle. There, tucked between pages eighty and eighty-one, is a small brown feather.

She takes it out carefully, running her thumb over its soft, delicate vain. It certainly wasn’t in the book that morning.

The elevator rings, and its doors open. Angela steps out.

“Genji,” she says experimentally, ignoring the way her cheeks grow warm at the sound of it. Now she has a name. (It’s only fair, she decides, since he apparently knows hers.)

She finds herself smiling all the way to her door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> - ~~Shrike is Ana's call sign, an idea i took from one of her canon skins.~~ edit on 3/31/17: i changed Ana's call sign to Horus, since it was brought to my attention that PTR now says Horus was her canon call sign! you'll see me come up with call signs for characters who go by their real names (except for Genji, for a reason for that will be revealed later). they'll all be explained in notes, but i'll try to make them pretty obvious to figure out!
> 
> -the other exception is Winston. he just figures literally no one would think to connect the superhero ~~gorilla~~ scientist with a land lord
> 
> -i headcanon that when characters running around as heroes, they sound like they do in-game and are either using voice filters or speak in a different octave, but they sound different when they're posing as civilians. i can sort of compare it to someone's "public speaking voice" vs their natural voice... like, i work in a coffeeshop and i always use a higher octave to sound more friendly to customers, but my natural voice is considerably deeper, if that makes sense
> 
> -genji's trying his best, guys


	3. iii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm very sorry that this took more than a week!! i got caught up in another idea and it was difficult to focus on this for a good couple of days. D:
> 
> i answered a question about Genji's body in this AU over [here](http://glowroseate.tumblr.com/post/159217930453/i-have-a-question-about-here-we-cross-our). in general, i keep inspiration posts and other answers about this fic under the tag "#v: here we cross respective hearts," if anyone's interested in that!

“You’ve got it _bad_ ,” Hana says as she mercilessly unleashes a blue shell on Genji’s cart just seconds before the finish line. Genji watches in dismay as Koopa Troopa launches into the air, performs a triple flip, and lands in a daze just long enough for Princess Peach to pull ahead.

“I don’t have anything bad,” Genji huffs, lowering his visor halfway so he doesn’t have to watch Hana’s pixelated character dance across the screen in victory.

Groaning, he passes the controller to Lúcio.

Hana reaches over and pushes the visor down the whole way. Genji watches, certainly not pouting, as Princess Peach hoists her trophy into the air triumphantly. (And if he _is_ , then, well, they can’t tell.) “The only reason you lost _for the fourth time in a row_ is because you started talking about your ten-minute conversation with her,” she says pointedly, “ _again_.”

“They were a good ten minutes,” Genji says in his defense. It’s been almost twenty-four hours, but the encounter is still fresh in his mind. If he could feel just one last thing with his hands, he thinks, it would be her fingers against his. He sinks back against his couch with a happy sigh, ignoring the way his visor fogs up because of it.

Hana and Lúcio share a look.

* * *

“Someone’s in a good mood.”

Angela looks up from her book, her fond smile not the least bit wavering as Jesse walks into the communal kitchen. She puts down the novel and takes a sip of coffee—not that it does anything to mask the upwards curve of her lips. “It’s a nice day.”

He’s not wearing a shirt, but he _is_ wearing his hat and a pair of cotton pajama pants. “Angela Ziegler, actually sitting down and relaxing? Hell must’ve frozen over.”

“I don’t know what kinds of things Jack’s been telling you all,” she replies, amused, “but I’m not some sort of cryptid.” Jesse pulls out a chair, spins it backwards, and sits himself down, where he proceeds to flick his hat back and stare at her. “Can I help you?” Angela asks, grinning now. “Find you a shirt, perhaps?”

She doesn’t expect Hanzo to come in at that moment, but she’s glad for it; she can practically see the question marks milling around Jesse’s head. (Or…hat.) “Is anyone else concerned about that bird making a nest on the stairwell?” Hanzo says. He is thankfully more clothed than Jesse, his hair freed from its usual bun. As she watches him prepare tea, she thinks this is the most relaxed she’s seen him.

“Shit, again?” Jesse mutters, straightening for a moment.

Angela opens her mouth, then closes. She thought she had been imagining those chirps.

“I’ll let Ge…” Jesse trails off as his eyes land on her. “G— Ganymede, it’s probably Ganymede. That’s the bird’s name. You met him yet?”

Angela raises an eyebrow. “Are you saying it’s normal for a bird to be flying around inside?”

“Sometimes. Usually we have…someone who takes care of ‘em.”

“ _Them_?”

“Mhm. There’s three. Hanzo technically owns one.” Jesse reaches out and smacks Hanzo’s hip good-naturedly as the other man walks over with two cups, and Angela sees Hanzo grit his teeth, as if fighting the flustered shade of his cheeks.

She smiles a little wider and hides it behind her book.

“Anyway, back to more _important_ matters.” She can hear the matching grin in Jesse’s voice as he scoots closer to the table. “I was a li’l busy last night, so I didn’t catch all the details about your—what’d Lena call him—your _secret admirer_.” He takes a sip of tea, smug.

“I don’t have one.” Angela closes her book and sets it down to look at him properly. She touches her cheeks, conscious of her persisting smile— _what’s gotten into me?_ she thinks. “Not a secret one, at least. I know his name.”

“You do?” It’s Hanzo who asks this time.

Angela nods. “I overheard someone call him Genji.”

* * *

“Hold on. Wario’s coming up on my left, I’m dropping a banana peel.”

“Cool. Lemme just get out of your way…”

“Are you clear?”

“Clear.”

“Awesome.”

Genji watches the AI spiral out of control as run into the banana peel. Hana laughs in triumph and speeds off, Lucio right behind her. Watching the two of them play video games together is always interesting, Genji thinks. It’s like watching two sharks play with their food before eating them.

“Anyway,” Hana says, eyes trained on the television, “do we know why the commander’s so against you two meeting?”

“I think he may also be interested in Angela,” Genji says in grim acceptance.

Hana laughs so suddenly that Lúcio pulls ahead at the last second, but Lúcio is chuckling too, which means that none of them really catch his snapshot moment of victory. Hana clutches the controller to her chest as she rolls over, shoulders shaking in mirth.

“Why do I let you two come over, ever,” Genji says, more of a self-aware comment than a true question. He brings his legs up on the couch so Hana doesn’t roll into them.

“Because then you’d have these vintage video games and no one to play them with,” Lúcio tells him, which is partially correct. Genji grumbles.

“The commander,” Hana says meaningfully, steering the conversation back on track, “is more interested in other things, don’t you think? Other _people_? Like, say, his arch nemesis, Reaper—”

“That’s because they are arch nemeses,” Genji argues.

“Yeah, connected by tension so thick, you could cut it with one of your shuriken.”

Genji suddenly remembers seeing the band aid on Angela’s hand and wilts, knowing he had put it there. _I should have just gone through Hanzo’s window that night…_

“Dude, even _I’ve_ noticed the way they’re fixated on each other during fights,” Lúcio says. “I mean, remember that time in the factory, when they practically staged a soap opera on top of some boxes—”

“No, wait, I think that happened during one of your trips.” Hana’s phone buzzes, and the game is forgotten for the moment as she talks and taps away. “Oh, man, you should have been there. Lúcio started playing _Come Back to Me_ and I _swear_ neither of them noticed the entire time.”

So _this_ is what he misses during his trips away—beautiful strangers moving into the building, his commander apparently having illicit relations with the enemy. Genji flops back on the couch, staring up at the green-tinted ceiling while the happy tune of Mario Kart dances around his living room. “That still doesn’t explain why he actually tackled me on top of that roof.”

“Maybe it’s because it was during a mission, and she _is_ a civilian…” Lúcio starts. “Kind of different from being each other’s arch nemeses.”

“So you should try meeting her _outside_ of missions,” Hana cuts in excitedly. “That’s it! I’ve seen her eating breakfast downstairs, all you’d need to do is wake up super early to catch her. What about tomorrow?”

“Hey, and I can provide mood music. I’ve got tons of playlists for this.”

“Yeah, perfect! See, Genji, we’ve got your back, you just have to go for it!”

Their confidence is infectious. He knows that things can’t possibly be so easy, but it’s nice to know he has people on his side. “Maybe in a few days,” he relents. “I do not want to move too quickly and…irritate her.”

“But don’t move too slowly either, okay?” Hana says.

“Okay.”

“Good. Now,” Hana sets her phone down with exaggerated care, “we go back to kicking your butt.”

Genji sits up, indignant. “Second place is not you ‘kicking my butt.’” He clicks off his faceplate, confident it will help for the impeding match.

“You were eleventh two races ago—”

“ _One_ time!”

“It’s gonna be two times after this.” Lúcio grins as he tosses Hana’s controller over, and Genji’s suddenly grateful that they lost the third controller and they can’t both gang up on him. “Ready, Shimada?”

(Now he hardly blinks at the mention of his family name.) “You’re on.”

* * *

“Are you _sure_ you’re okay?” Angela sighs as she rubs Jesse’s back, prepared to deliver another smack if he started coughing again.

“Nope,” says Jesse raggedly, hat actually toppling off his head when he drops his cheek against the table. “Feels like I’m about to die, doc.”

“You choked on your tea.”

“It was hot tea.”

“That was the point of it,” Hanzo says blandly.

“Near death experience aside, it smells heavenly.” Angela deems Jesse perfectly alive and turns to Hanzo. “What brand do you use?”

Hanzo blinks, actually looking affronted. “I have been growing my own leaves for years.”

Ah. “Don’t get him started on his leaves,” Jesse groans.

Hanzo rolls his eyes at him. “I can make you a cup, if you’d like,” he says to her. “I would have offered earlier, but I saw you already had coffee.”

“It’s all right, I needed the caffeine today. But definitely next time.” She smiles, and when he smiles back, it feels like an accomplishment. _Making friends, slowly but surely._

“Next time, it is,” Jesse sits up without warning, holding his phone up, “because Hana just beat my high score in Mario Kart and be _smirched_ my honor, which means we have to go there right now and fix it.”

“We?” Hanzo says at the same time Angela questions, “Mario Kart?”

“Yes,” Jesse says. He stands, puts his hat back on, gathers his cup, and then he walks out of the room with such determination that it’s hard _not_ to follow him.

“That…didn’t actually answer my question,” Angela says.

“This happens about once a week, and it tends to end in shouting,” Hanzo sighs and takes a sip from his own cup. “A _lot_ of shouting. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.” He sounds resigned, but he’s following them into the elevator so he must not be as fed up with it as he seems.

“Oh, I see, but— I meant, what’s Mario Kart?”

Jesse blanches. “That is possibly one of _the_ saddest things I’ve ever heard,” he says. “You’re definitely comin’ with us now.”

“Are you kidnapping me, Jesse McCree?”

“Aw, don’t worry. You’ll be safe with us.” Jesse grins at her.

She hears Hanzo sigh.

* * *

_displaying messages for group chat_ **_FUN ALLOWED_ **

**D.Va  
** MARIO KART TONIGHT AT GENJI’S, I JUST SET A NEW RECORD TO BEAT :*

**Genji  
** be good guests and bring your own food

**Tracer  
** oooh count me in, i’ll bring snacks!!

**McCree  
** hanzo and i are bringing tea 

**McCree  
** but only for us

**McCree  
** we’re also bringing a guest so be nice ya bastards

**Pharah  
** “Be nice,” he says, before calling them all bastards.

**Tracer  
**!!!! did you finally convince jack to come??

**D.Va  
** oh yeah, i forgot to put this in the general chat

* * *

_displaying messages for group chat_ **_no fun allowed_ **

**D.Va  
** mario kart at genji’s tonight bring food if you can

**76  
** Don’t scream yourselves hoarse before the mission tomorrow.

* * *

_displaying messages for group chat_ ****_FUN ALLOWED_****

**D.Va  
** well

**Pharah  
** You tried.

* * *

_displaying messages for group chat_ **_no fun allowed_ **

**D.Va  
** yes commander

* * *

“No,” Genji says in disbelief as the second place banner pops into his side of the screen _again_. “No, _no._ My controller is obviously broken.”

“It wasn’t broken when I beat you with it two games ago.” Hana snickers and leans over to high-five Lúcio.

“Let me have a go next!” Lena practically bounces on the couch. “C’mon, Genji and I have a score to settle on Rainbow Road, but—hey, if it makes you feel any better, we can use one of the easy stages instead.”

There’s a loud knock on the door—Genji shoots up to his feet. “No, Lúcio won that round, so you have to go against him. It’s the rules.” No, he’s _not_ intimidated by Lena’s ruthless driving, whether in real life or in video games. “I’ll get the door.”

He’s not surprised to see Jesse’s face through the peephole—he _is_ a little curious about the amount of skin he sees—but then Jesse shifts and there’s a familiar blonde standing behind him.

Genji turns and bolts.

* * *

_displaying messages for group chat_ **_FUN ALLOWED_ **

**D.Va  
** 뭐야 미친 

**D.Va  
** HAHAHA

**Lena  
** GENJI?????

**Lúcio  
** Genji dude are you like

**Lúcio  
** alive

**McCree  
** idk what just happened but can someone answer the door

* * *

 “Glad to finally meet you.” Angela smiles happily at Hana and Lúcio. “I was beginning to think I’d never meet the rest of my neighbors.”

“Oh, trust me, you still have a _long_ way to go,” Lena laughs, scooting over to make room for her on the couch. “Come sit with me, I’ll show you how this game’s done.”

“Don’t listen too hard,” Lúcio says breezily. “She was in fourth place before we paused.”

“Okay, _okay_.” She tries to interject, “I can’t stay long,” but she’s laughing too and Lena is tugging her down anyway.

“I’m closing the window before we all go ill,” Hanzo says, moving past the couch to do so. It _is_ strange that they would have it open in the colder days of autumn, but there are plenty of blankets and pillows heaped on the couch, so Angela doesn’t really complain.

“I wanna play against Hanzo next!” Hana declares as the game starts up again.

Angela stifles a small giggle at the thought of Hanzo holding a controller—it’s hard to imagine. _But I suppose I’ve seen stranger things lately…_

* * *

**To: Genji  
From: Hana** _  
_ that was the perfect opportunity to talk to her, Genji!!!

 **To: Genji  
From: Hana** _  
_ ooh did you know she’s a doctor? if i tell her that you survived a seven-story jump, maybe she’ll be impressed?

 _To: Hana_  
From: Genji  
NO

* * *

 **To: Genji  
From: Lena** _  
_ heeey jesse’s VERY SORRY about this, please come back :(

 **To: Genji  
From: Lena** _  
_ do you want us to relocate? I can herd everyone into my place!!

 _To: Lena_  
From: Genji  
no it’s fine. I’m going to stay at Hanzo’s until she leaves

 **To: Genji  
From: Lena** _  
_ :( he says the door is locked but the window is open so “please don’t crash through it again”

* * *

 **To: Genji  
From: McCree** _  
_ im VERY SORRY

 **To: Genji  
From: McCree** _  
_ holy shit your girlfriend’s either got the best luck or she’s a natural at this game because she just kicked my ass without even trying

 _To: McCree_  
From: Genji  
POSSIBLY I AM IN LOVE

 _To: McCree_  
From: Genji  
also. she’s not my “girlfriend,” she’s Angela

* * *

 The plan is to hide out in his brother’s apartment until Lena tells him that it’s safe to come back.

It’s a very sound, very well-thought out plan—at least, until he reaches Hanzo’s floor and hears chirping.

It doesn’t take long at all for him to find Ganymede tucked under the stairs, nesting with cobwebs and a stolen quarter. “How did you get here?” Genji asks, accusing, and when Ganymede predictably doesn’t answer, he shakes his head and starts climbing the stairs.

Ganymede perches on his shoulder, comfortable.

“The stairwell wouldn’t be a good home. It’s too loud,” Genji informs him. “Besides, you have a perfectly good nest upstairs with your brothers, don’t you?” His heat sinkers twist and hiss as he turns the landing between the ninth and tenth floors, and Ganymede titters in surprise. Smiling, Genji offers his wrist up, and the bird happily crosses over.

He’s smiling a little less when he finally pushes the door to the rooftop open, because missions usually aren’t too bad but _stairs_ are their own monsters. “Next time, don’t build a nest lower than the tenth floor,” he says sternly.

Ganymede chirps and flutters away without a sign of comprehension.

Shaking his head, Genji makes his way to the greenhouse in the middle of the roof. As soon the door opens, he ducks, and Ganymede sweeps in to join Ryujin and Mizuchi on the beams above. “Stay,” he orders.

The plan is to leave, and _then_ hide out in his brother’s apartment until Lena tells him that it’s safe to come back, but then he sees that the thermostat is off by two degrees, so that plan crumbles too as he goes about trying to fix it. There are plenty of back-and-forth trips between the windows and the thermostat, but it’s methodical, calming, and soon enough he’s cleared his mind of that recent scare.

_Ah… When was the last time you ran away from something like that?_ He feels his cheeks burn at the memory.

He glances around and even checks behind a few of the flower pots to make sure that he’s alone, and only when he’s certain that the only living things in the greenhouse are him, the plants, and the birds, he clicks his faceplate off. Unfortunately, the blush persists even when he presses his hands to his cheeks and tells his body, _Stop doing that._

“Next time, I won’t run,” he says to no one in particular. When Ryujin flutters down to his hand, he tells him, “I can’t help it, though. She’s just _so_ —”

He most certainly does _not_ swoon. He slumps down into the little bench in the middle of the greenhouse with a happy sigh.

Angela had been holding the book when he saw her, and though it was a brief glance, he was _sure_ he saw the tip of the feather peeking out from one of the pages. _She kept it,_ he thinks, which makes him feel just a little bit giddy. “She kept it,” he tells Ryujin, grinning. Ryujin chirps emphatically.

He ends up staying there after all, shifting into a familiar meditative position that makes him want to visit Zenyatta again _._ The greenhouse is nothing compared to Nepal, but it _is_ rather serene in the evening, and he needs the quiet to deal with this pounding in his chest.

“Tomorrow,” he decides. “I am going to wait for her in the kitchen and make her tea. Do you think she likes tea?”

Ryujin, bored, flutters away. In his wake, he leaves another brown feather.

Genji picks it up and smiles, feeling a burst of newfound confidence. _Tomorrow._

* * *

  _Not today,_ Angela thinks as she frantically tries to tie her hair back, hold her bag, and descend the stairs in heels at the same time. _Not today, please, not today._

“Godspeed, angel!” she hears Jesse laugh above her, his face appearing over the railing.

She huffs and, without faltering, launches her scrunchie up at him. She hears him laugh harder.

“Whoa— hey, Angie! I didn’t know you were still here!” Lena greets on her way past the kitchen.

“Oh, I wish I wasn’t, Lena,” she says grimly, hair flying around her face as she struggles with the front door.

“You can’t stay a little longer for breakfast?” Lena pouts, but Angela has the door open and is slipping out with a last apologetic, “Can’t, sorry!”

The door shuts, and the entire first floor is bathed in the faint sounds of music.

“Sorry, Genji,” Lena sighs when she trudges back into the kitchen, shoulders slumped in dejection. “I tried to stop her.”

“Oh,” Genji says, putting down the spatula. “So, she didn’t know that I made—”

Lena sighs. “No, love. I’m sorry.”

“I mean, I’ll eat the pancakes, though,” Lúcio says, raising a hand.

“It’s not over yet!” Hana exclaims, standing so she can push Genji out of the kitchen. “Genji, what are you still doing here? Go after her, walk her to work!”

“But isn’t that—”

“ _Now!_ Go, go, go!”

He barely manages to fling the apron off before Hana outright pushes him out of the front door.

“Make us proud!” are Lúcio’s parting words before the door is slammed shut once more.

Genji ducks into the nearby alley and scales the building next door. Once he’s on top, he jogs along the edges, trying to find— _There._ He sees her already a block away, speed walking with her bag clutched to her chest, hair falling haphazardly down her back. She’s forced to stop at the end of the block, and Genji sees the pedestrian signal start counting down on the other side of the road— _thirty seconds. Enough time for me to get down, catch up to her, say hello—_

Genji clutches the edge of the roof tightly. He knows what he has to do.

* * *

“Oh, _verdammt._ I can’t be late again, _please._ ” Angela rakes a hand through her hair in frustration as the pedestrian signal stops her in her tracks. _I should not have stayed so late last night._

She makes a silent note that sometimes, not all super villains wear gaudy costumes—sometimes, they’re come in the form of faulty alarm clocks. _Come on, faster… Twenty-eight seconds… twenty-seven…_

As if by magic, the two suddenly blinks away, leaving a single digit on the countdown. _Six…five…_

Angela blinks, looking both ways down the road. She sees the cars slow down at the traffic lights, then stop completely. “Oh, come on!” she hears a driver complain through their window.

The pedestrian signal flashes a walking symbol.

A group of students walk past her, evidently finding nothing wrong with this.

_As they say, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,_ she thinks, shaking her head and starting forward again.

She makes it to work on time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) "뭐야 미친" = i looked for Korean slang terms that could equate to "what the fuck" and found [this](https://www.quora.com/How-do-you-say-WTF-in-Korean). it's not the most reliable site but the answerer is a native speaker, so i thought i could trust it?? if that's inaccurate though, please let me know!!
> 
> Ryujin and Mizuchi are names of Japanese [dragons](http://www.japan-talk.com/jt/new/6-Japanese-dragons).
> 
> 2) i like headcanoning that genji and hana make great friends both in canon and AUs, tbh?? i feel like they both missed out on those "glory years" of their 20s (because of hana's drafting and genji's family business), so they'd bond through things like video games and outings and trying new food and just hanging out and feeling _normal_ for a bit, you know? and of course i couldn't leave lúcio out of that, so here we have this beautiful trio
> 
> 3) i decided this AU would take place in the future just like canon, just to be able to call Mario Kart "vintage." /flees


End file.
